


Nothing Human

by orphan_account



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Burns, Established Relationship, Family Member Death, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Older Man/Younger Woman, Regret, Robot/Human Relationships, Scars, Secrets, Slavery, Stillbirth, Suicidal Thoughts, Widowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23623279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Slight AU. "We cheated Death. Maybe he won't come to collect." Five people, two wastelands, and an uncertain future mapped by scars of the past.
Relationships: Deacon/Nick Valentine, Female Courier/Joshua Graham
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Nothing Human

Striking a match, Nick Valentine lit the wick to his oil lamp, and looked over the case file on his desk. His revolver lay beside the file, and Billie Holiday sang to him from a nearby radio.

The picture of a preteen girl with a tired expression, her face blotchy, stared back at him. Her name was Maxine Brooks, and she'd last been seen leaving Diamond City during an afternoon with a young man bound for Goodneighbor several days ago, her special good luck charm, a globe keychain, dangling from her pocket.

He glanced up at the sound of his agency's front door opening. Deacon strode in and joked, "Honey, I'm home!"

Nick smirked at that and rose. He wasn't sure, exactly, what Deacon saw in an old tin can like him, but he wasn't complaining. Deacon's antics at least made life interesting for him, and it was nice to have someone watching his back, especially as a synth.

"Nice duster, Deacon, where'd you get it?" Nick asked, glancing him over.

"Oh, this?" Deacon shrugged, "I've had it. Just never got around to wearing it. With the weather beginning to get colder, I thought I'd start." The back of the duster was bare as he turned about, the threads catching Nick's eye. Whatever design had been on the back had been removed. "Anyway, what's new with you?"

"Missing persons case. I'm headed to Goodneighbor," he explained, "Rebecca's off with Hancock at Revere, anyway, so I may as well catch up on my work here."

"At least you'll have fun while you're on it," Deacon commented, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. "You need anything, let me know. I'm never far off."

Nick snorted. "At times, I feel like I have a rain cloud following me."

"You wound me, sir!" Deacon cried out in mock horror, placing his hand to his chest, "Whatever have I done to you?"

Nick ticked them off on his fingers. "Stole my squirrel bits, raided my Nuka-Cola stash, stole the blanket while sleeping…"

"But those are things you don't really need. Besides, I know you. You'd take me back, anyway."

Nick chuckled. "Of course." He drew Deacon into himself.

"Been smoking again?" Deacon asked as he gave him a peck on the lips.

"You complaining?" Nick asked.

"Nah, I like it. Reminds me of you." Deacon looked over at his desk and picked up at the photograph. "This her?"

"Yes. Maxine Brooks. Daughter of a couple of farmers. She was last seen on her way to Goodneighbor by a caravan. Not many leads to go off, here."

Deacon glanced up at him. "I could lend a hand."

"Pardon?" Nick asked, "Since when would something like this interest you?"

Deacon laid down the picture. "While synths are my priority, I can agree with some of what Garvey says. It would be nice to help other humans for once, but Des doesn't budge on that point."

"And it can't have anything to do with my going there, can it?" Nick pushed.

Deacon paused and gestured with a tilt of his head to move toward a corner of the room away from the window. Nick followed him. "Look, I know a guy who can help you, but I can't guarantee what he'll be able to tell you. His name is Victor. He's a bartender at the Pioneer, that hole in the wall in Goodneighbor. Beyond that, it's up to you to get it out of him."

"Why are you telling me this?" Nick asked.

"So you don't go blundering into this," Deacon explained, "'Sides, he owes me a favor, anyway. I'd rather you not end up locked up again."

Nick smiled. "Playing the overprotective boyfriend, Deacon?"

"Is it working?" Deacon's smile fell as he sobered. "One more thing you ought to know: he is a synth."

"Come again?" Nick asked.

"I shouldn't need to ask you to keep that to yourself," Deacon said. "Anyway," he sidestepped him, "I gotta go."

Nick grasped his wrist to stop him. "We aren't done here. Why him? Why now?"

Deacon slowly turned back to look at him. "Nick, you have to trust me on this. I wouldn't do anything to put you in danger." Nick glanced down at their hands. Deacon brought his other hand around to squeeze his. "You don't have to talk to Victor. I know you – you're a good detective, you'd figure it out. I just thought I'd help."

"And complete Railroad business at the same time," Nick pointed out.

"Guilty as charged," Deacon admitted, "but I'd find another way to do it, if I had to."

"Why me?" Nick asked.

"I know your patterns, and I know your body language, for one. I can trust you. For another, Vic's not easy to get through to. He's been hurt. A lot. He's friendly enough to patrons, but he's distrustful of people in general. We've been trying to help him, and he helps us, sometimes, but he hesitates."

"And you want to send me, another synth?"

Deacon nodded. "But not just to get information – to help him move on with his life. I'll give you a passcode, if you want to continue."

Nick let go of his wrist. "Keep talking."

"'The house always wins.' He'll know then. I recommend talking to him near closing. You'll know him from his black cowboy hat. As you can imagine, he doesn't like talking about this sort of thing during happy hour."

Nick nodded. "Got it."

Deacon patted his hand. "If you need me, I'll be around." Sweeping the tail of his duster, he started off down the stairs.

Nick went back to his desk, and carefully loaded his revolver, his mind reeling. Still, he couldn't help but smile. A robot cowboy?

The Pioneer was a bit of a tacky bar, displaying old posters of smiling cowboys on the wall. Outside of the bar itself, the tables were a few barrels with a couple of broken chairs arranged around them. The jukebox played three different old-time cowboy songs on repeat.

Victor's black hat was easy to pick out as he entertained guests at the bar, his green eyes shining mischievously under black eyebrows. He wore a red bandana and black button-down shirt and spat colloquialisms with a twang. Nick sat away from the bar, with a few patrons noticing him and muttering as they walked by. He'd spent the day trying to track down a few leads, with few bites. Some interviewees had seen neither hide nor hair of the girl, while others had stories that Nick was going to look further into checking the veracity of later. A few cigarette butts filled his ashtray as he waited and shook his head at Victor's acting. He was, in several ways, playing a caricature of a cowboy, but it kept the caps tumbling into his tip jar.

As the bar slowly emptied for the night, Nick sallied over to a stool, and sat down on it.

Victor glanced up from where he was wiping down the bar. "I was wondering whether you'd be going home dry, Valentine. Must say that I'm mighty surprised to be having a celebrity here. What can I do for you?"

"The house always wins," Nick said quietly.

Victor's hand twitched at that. "Because the game's always rigged, partner," he muttered, darting a quick gaze about. Seeing that Nick wasn't overheard, he said, "It's a bit odd to hear a passcode coming from you, though. Last I checked, you weren't part of the Railroad."

Nick shook his head. "I'm not. A friend told me."

Victor folded his arms, and leaned back against the shelves, careful not to disrupt the stacked glasses. "So, what do you want to know?"

"Since we're on the subject of the Railroad, what brings you to Goodneighbor?" Nick asked, "Not too many cowboys around here."

Victor smirked. "Simple, I'm not from around here. I didn't look like this originally, either."

"Do tell," Nick replied, "I'm all ears."

"As long as you don't mind."

"Not at all."

Victor brought up the rag to wipe down the taps. "Robert House was my creator. He built an army of machines known as securitrons – that's what I was. Think of a tank on a wheel with a screen – screen's your personality, and two servos. Mine was a cowboy, 'cept my hat was white, not black."

"Seems hard to get around on," Nick commented.

Victor laughed. "Don't knock it 'til you tried it, Nick. I find a pair of legs harder to work with, myself." His mirth faded. "So, my brothers and sisters, and I, we worked for Mr. House, the then ruler of New Vegas, may he rest in peace." Bitterly, he added, "And it's a damn shame that barely anyone else here has ever heard of him."

"Sounds like an interesting guy. So, he made all of you?" Nick asked, lifting a hand.

"Yup. Most of us didn't have unique personalities like I had, though – they were mainly used for security. We kept New Vegas the jewel of the Mojave, and things were good. That was, until Mr. House needed a platinum chip to upgrade all of us. A courier was sent to bring it to New Vegas, and then things went sideways. She was shot and left for dead by one of the casino purveyors, a two-faced snake named Benny. I was sent out to dig her up – she was barely alive. Looking back on it, I'm not sure if it was the right decision."

"Why's that?"

Victor sighed. "You have to understand, the Mojave at the time was a mess. Still is, in some regards. You had Mr. House trying to keep the peace, while the New California Republic and Caesar's Legion raged at each other outside the city gate. Then you had people who, ridiculously, wanted to break off from him." Nick held his tongue, though it was clear that Victor's beliefs were skewed. "Anyway, a change was needed, and the Courier ended up being the one to bring it. She had her own reasons, I guess, but she cast her lot with the NCR, and killed Mr. House. She deactivated the rest of us but spared me by removing me from the mainframe."

"Couldn't you bring her to justice?" Nick inquired.

"I couldn't," Victor explained, shaking his head, "The NCR hated Mr. House. Even if I wanted to, she'd run off to Dead Horse Point to live with the Burned Man."

"The Burned Man?" Nick inquired, intrigued by the name.

Victor propped an arm on the bar. "Yup. Out west, there was a legate under Caesar known as Joshua Graham. He was the meanest son of a bitch that ever existed. That is, until the day he lost the First Battle of Hoover Dam. Now, Caesar didn't take too kindly to that – he set him on fire and threw him into the Grand Canyon. When people saw him, they called him the Burned Man, a ghost. Turned out he was real."

"How?" Nick prompted, "No one could survive that."

"That's the thing," Victor took off his hat to lay it on the counter. Nick noted that the part of Victor's hair didn't sit right. It was as if someone had taken a blade and sliced into the crown of his head. "Every legend, out west, has a kernel of truth to it, however small. My 'friend' the Courier? She's his missus."

"Not doubting you, Victor. I'm just saying that it's not exactly the type of tale I usually hear."

Victor pointed a finger at him in the imitation of a gun. "Not this one either, huh, Valentine?"

Nick shrugged. "I can't argue with that."

Victor lowered his hand. "I got as far as Kansas when I collapsed. An old codger and his wife found me on their homestead. I got lucky – turned out they were both grease monkeys." He glanced up, and watched two patrons get up to leave, with only Nick remaining. "I probably would've been on easy street, if I had stayed, but I had to keep running, get myself as far away as I could from New Vegas. Hell, I probably would have gone into the Atlantic Ocean, I had that frame of mind at the time. Regardless, the writing was on the wall. The old timer warned me as I left that if I didn't get a new body soon, it was going to be the end for me."

He tugged at his bandana, and Nick's jaw slackened in disdain as Victor showed him a scar that cut into his neck. "I made it to Virginia, and collapsed again, half-functioning. I was salvaged and uploaded into this synth body you see here. I woke up with a bomb collar around my neck and was told that I owed a debt. It didn't matter what I thought – I was property."

Pulling out his cigarette case, Nick offered one to Victor, who gratefully took it, allowing Nick to light it. He smoked in silence, with the tobacco filling the air. When that ran out, he dropped it to stomp out, and Nick offered another. Victor smoked the second more slowly, and contemplatively. Finally, he continued, holding the cigarette at his side, "I'd wanted to end it all, and almost did, by messing with the bomb collar. I had nothing, no family, no home, no friends. Even my name was stripped from me, and my owner at the time," anger built in his voice, "was a little too interested in how synths' gear was similar to humans'." He turned his head away from Nick with a muttered apology and collected himself.

"Victor, you don't have to continue," Nick said gently, "If this is bothering you that much, I'll leave it alone. We won't have to discuss it again."

Victor slowly turned back to him. "I might as well get it out, since I've gotten this far. There was another synth, a favorite of his, named Shelly. She and I played with the bomb collars and tried to figure out ways to get them off our necks. We were going to get taken to the auction block soon. Son of a bitch owed too many people too much money. He'd chained me to a pipe in the house's basement and taken her upstairs for a last roll in the hay. I managed to loosen the collar and get it off. That's when I heard it." He winced. "There was a fight, a bad one. He'd gotten angry with her for not doing what he told her, and she must've yanked on her collar."

"I'm sorry," Nick said sympathetically.

Victor puffed on the cigarette. "By the time I'd managed to free myself and get upstairs, it had been quiet for a while. The smell of blood and mechanical parts was overwhelming, but I had to check, and make sure he was dead. Shelly was a mess – her head was in fragments everywhere. As for him, he'd been sprawled over the bedpost with a hole where his stomach was. Good riddance. I grabbed his rifle from the cabinet, some ammo, and ran as far as I could. I finally wound up in Goodneighbor and got my job here. It's all right, I suppose, playing cowboy for the patrons," Victor tipped his hat backward on his head, "Truth be told, it's all a bunch of mush. My personality was based on old time cowboy movies, so it's not exactly true. Everything else is based on my own personal experience."

"Anyone taking care of you, Victor?" Nick inquired.

He shrugged. "Not really, no. Magnolia's friendly, though. She keeps track of me when she can. No one really bothers me much here, anyway. Hancock may not necessarily be a straight shooter, but he's the best hope I can get of living undisturbed. Beats having a bomb collar fastened around my neck."

"Can't argue with that," Nick agreed.

Victor smiled. "Sorry, Nick, but I gotta kick you out. Need to close up for the night."

"Before you do, here's my card," Nick reached into his trench coat pocket to present it to Victor, who looked over it, "Even if you don't have a lead, just keep it with you. I'm always willing to help, even if it's just to talk."

Victor pocketed it. "So what's your game, partner?"

"I've been looking for a missing girl, Maxine Brooks." He reached into his trench coat and pulled out the photo.

Victor looked over it slowly. "I've seen her. She tried to buy some booze and made quite a ruckus when I refused her. Too young."

"Where'd she go?" Nick asked, taking it back.

Victor shook his head. "I wouldn't know. It was busy that night, and I had to kick her out, since she was making a scene. I'm probably not much help to you."

Nick nodded and tipped his fedora. "Keep the card anyway, Victor. Don't be a stranger."

"Thanks."

A few days later, a letter arrived for Nick. Ellie forwarded it over to him, and Nick, reading over it, saw Victor's signature, scrawled in black ink, on the bottom of it. "Not sure if this will help, but I've seen a man with white hair prowling along the creek three miles southwest, as the crow flies, close to midnight two days out of every other week. I think the Brooks girl met with him in the street after I threw her out, but I'm not sure – like I said before, she was mad as hell. He'll drop flowers in the water, usually white. You can swing by for a drink whenever, but as far as this goes, you're on your own."

Stakeouts were, even in the human life of Nick's namesake, utterly boring. There was little to do other than stare at a piece of static scenery, and hope that someone would come along. Bloatflies buzzed aimlessly along the water.

Nick checked his watch as time slid slowly by. It was half past midnight now, and he wondered how correct Victor's tip was.

Boots scuffed along the shoreline, and Nick raised his head.

A man wearing jeans and an ankle-length black coat, his hair white in the moonlight, walked along, carrying a fistful of white flowers. His face was like a mask at first glance, and it took Nick a moment to realize that he had painted make-up on himself, with two large, black circles around his eyes, and splotches in the imitation of tears. He mumbled under his breath as he dropped the petals along the dirty water.

Nick didn't put it from his mind that the man could just be a crank and was careful not to make any sudden movements along the tree roots. Metal glinted at the man's belt, and he saw a bonesaw hanging from it, the blade darkened with splotches. The man stopped, and knelt on the shoreline, tugging at something in the sand. Nick leaned forward, his eyes widening as he realized that what the man grasped was a skeletal hand, clutching at a shining disk. A chain clinked. Taking the trinket, the man placed a kiss to the hand, and pushed it back into the sand before moving on, continuing to spread petals.

Nick slowly moved along the bluff, taking care to edge past roots. Much to his own frustration, he could hear his old metal parts clanking.

A voice whispered to him from across the creek, "I know you're there."

He glanced up to see the man staring at him, the remainder of the flowers floating away in the water. Nick slowly rose. "I just had a few questions for you."

The man reached into his coat and pulled out a snub-nosed revolver. "I may have answers. Depends on the question."

"Who was that?" Nick pointed down the shoreline.

The man shrugged. "Just another lost soul, like all others here. I helped lead her on to a better world."

Nick glanced down in the opposite direction. "How many?"

"Not any of your business." The man shook his head. "People who can't cope with this world. I lead them on to the next, and I pay my respects to them, here."

"You convince them to kill themselves?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes. It's a dying world we live in, and it's better that they're freed."

Nick was careful to keep the man talking. "I don't believe we've met. Nick Valentine."

"I know you. You're the detective from Diamond City. Lot of people come from there," he shook his head, "Call me Orpheus."

"You talk a big game, but don't you think that's a foolish habit, to walk along the shoreline like this?" He asked.

Orpheus shrugged. "Initiates like me are given jobs like this. It's up to Thanatos, really."

"And, you are?"

"Why does this interest you?" Orpheus asked in annoyance, "You're looking for one of these people, aren't you?"

"Because I'd like a story to tell the family of the deceased," Nick replied evenly.

"As well as a skin to bring back? You're a lawman. I can't trust you." His finger twitched on the trigger. "No, I don't need to. You don't need to know."

Nick sprung to the side as a bullet hit the dirt behind him. Orpheus ran into the creek after him, the water sloshing along his boots. Nick spun and fired at his leg, causing him to gasp and stumble, crashing into the mud.

A volley of shots exploded near him, and he glanced around wildly before springing for cover behind a bush. Orpheus moaned from the pain, and crawled on the ground behind him, reaching for his bonesaw. Nick brought his foot down on his hand, causing the man to cry out in pain.

A shout sounded from the darkness, and a third shot exploded, sending a woman with dark hair flying to land face first in the water. "Come on now, draw!" Nick felt surprised and then relieved as he heard Victor's voice.

"Please, stop!" Orpheus moaned.

"I will when you give me some answers, and preferably don't try to attack me," Nick replied, "How many are with you?"

"Two, well, one now," he moaned, "Oh, please, please, let go!"

Nick called out, "Victor, watch! There's one left!"

"Got it!"

"What's your group called?"

"The Wraiths," Orpheus groaned, "Christ, let go of my hand! You're going to break it!"

Running feet sounded, and shots sounded across the creek. Victor yelled something unintelligible.

Nick let his foot up and grasped Orpheus by the collar to yank him over to himself. "Why are you doing this, forcing innocent people to kill themselves?"

Orpheus snorted. "Look around you. Who the hell wants to live in this world? At least we're giving them peace, and we show them some level of respect after all is said and done. Most of these people would have ended up as slaves or junkies, anyway. Some were. Others were raiders."

Nick glared at him. "So, that's it, then? Cull the herd?"

"You have a better plan? The Minutemen are misguided – their solution isn't going to work." A shot went off, and another woman with white hair fell over the side of the creek, her body hitting a jutting tree root to hang. Victor, framed in silhouette against Goodneighbor, panted as he reloaded his rifle.

"And you aren't?" Nick shoved Orpheus away from himself, allowing the man to stand. Orpheus winced as he attempted to balance his weight on his bad leg.

"What does it matter to you? There are too many unnecessary people on this world for it to flourish." He pointed at Goodneighbor. "There is your example, as are others. The world is starting over fresh, and we need to avoid making the same mistakes of the past to disallow what came before."

"By what, killing everyone who doesn't fit your vision?" Victor, hatless, slowly emerged from the darkness, his green eyes glinting with anger.

"Victor," Orpheus hissed, "I should've known."

"You can consider your invitation rejected," Victor hissed, "Now, get on the trail, and don't you dare come back, you little runt."

Orpheus stumbled off in anger, calling over his shoulder, "This isn't over, Victor!"

"I didn't think so. Scram!"

Victor leaped down onto the bank as Orpheus faded into the distance. "Mind telling me what that was about?" Nick asked as he knelt to dig at the sand. He shook his head with a sigh as he uncovered another hand, this one clutching at a tarnished key chain of a globe.

Victor propped his rifle up against the earthen wall. "The Wraiths. They prey on people who are at risk, and try to get them to either kill themselves, or finish the job. They make off with quite a bit of goods, that way."

Nick looked up at him, and Victor sighed. "They'd been trying to sweet talk me into ending it all, and, much as I hate to admit it, I came close."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Nick asked.

"Because I'd been trying to get some information on them. Not something I'm proud of. Then I find out that they've barely got a foothold around here. You show up with your missing persons case, and I realized that I had to make a choice. I'll settle my own score with Thanatos."

"How long were you going to allow that to go on?" Nick asked quietly.

Victor lowered his head. "Maybe I'm more of a coward than I thought." Stepping on a flower, he ground it into the dirt with the toe of his boot.

A few nights later, Nick looked up from his desk to see Deacon, still wearing that duster, leaning in his doorframe. Ellie had since retired for the evening. "Heard you've been busy again, Valentine."

"It's my job, after all. Though I can't imagine what sort of hole you've fallen into, recently."

Deacon chuckled. "Oh, just here and there, the hairdresser, some groceries. Thought I'd also stop at the local florist to get a gift for you, but then I decided your favorite cigarettes would do." He tossed the pack on the desk before Nick.

Nick frowned and pocketed the cigarettes. "You didn't have to tail me."

Deacon shook his head. "Wasn't tailing you. You just happened to intersect, and I figured that he had to have heard something, given what the Wraiths had tried to put him through in the past."

"Then did you tell Victor to help me at the creek?" Nick inquired.

"No, that was his choice." Deacon grabbed a chair to spin around and sit down upon backwards. "I was there, too, to make sure he didn't get himself killed while doing it. I would've shown myself if, the need had arisen. You, I don't worry about as much."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Nick replied, putting the file aside, "Then I assume he's being cared for, as well?"

Deacon folded his arms across the back of the chair, leaning forward slightly. "As best as we can, anyway. Medical supplies are easy, but psychological damage takes more time and resources, which we don't always have. Now that he's got you to talk to, and turned his back on the Wraiths, he'll hopefully start coming around." He shook his head. "Still, we have an honest to God synth that used to be from New Vegas. Haven't seen one of those before, and probably never will again. Synths never caught on out west."

Nick paused at that. "Does the term 'Burned Man' mean anything to you?"

"He's a legend out west, at least according to our intel," Deacon said, leaning backward in his chair, "I thought it was bullshit, most of us did, but Victor is convinced. I can't blame him – he met the guy."

Nick leaned on his palms on the desk. "Why does Victor matter so much to you?"

"Because of the fact that I'm working with him right now," Deacon replied, keeping his same note of flippancy, "I'd ask you the same thing about Ellie."

And at that, Nick felt Deacon closing another door. "Don't patronize me, Deacon," he said in agitation.

"I'm not, I'm being honest."

Nick glared at him. "That's a damn lie."

Deacon frowned at that. "I'm trying to protect you because I love you. You need to learn to leave some things alone, Valentine." He stood at that. "Look, I'm sorry. I'll just head out, and we'll forget about it."

Nick walked around his desk at that, and sighed, swallowing his pride. "Deacon?"

"Yeah?"

"C'mere."

Nick pulled Deacon to himself, kissing him fiercely, his hand fisted against Deacon's back. He was still annoyed with Deacon but understood his sentiment. Deacon gave a surprised cry against his mouth, followed by a whimper.

Nick pulled out to look at him. "What's wrong, doll?"

Deacon looked embarrassed at that. "Got a little sentimental," he said with a chuckle, "Sometimes it's just good to know you're here." He pulled Nick back in for another kiss and moved backward.

They fell onto the mattress, with Deacon wriggling in his arms. Nick kissed his lover's neck and behind his ear, prompting Deacon to laugh, and knock the fedora from Nick's head to hit the floor. Clothing pulled, and fell from them, with Deacon tugging Nick to himself by his tie.

Deacon was slow, and methodical, over the time that he and Nick had been together. While he wasn't the best equipped for machines, he was nonetheless curious in his soft caresses and wandering fingers. And all the while, he whispered to Nick how he was so warm, so beautiful. Any jokes about a robot fetish were laid aside for being in bad taste, though Nick sometimes wondered, especially when Deacon loved to take the exposed metal fingers of his right hand into his mouth.

Nick hadn't been sure he'd been built for that type of pleasure, however Deacon had discovered a few wires and openings in the metal in his thighs and crotch region that, when touched, left Nick moaning for him not to stop. Tonight bore no difference, with Deacon gently mapping Nick's body with his fingers, and Nick stroking Deacon to climax. Deacon muffled his scream in Nick's shoulder, while Nick lolled his head against the mattress as his systems overloaded.

Nick's systems softly rebooted, and he regained consciousness to feel Deacon stroking his face gently in the afterglow. Nick relaxed against his hand, and Deacon leaned forward to kiss him softly on the nose. "Mind if I stay the night, instead?"

"We may butt heads, but you're always welcome," Nick reassured.

Deacon snuggled up against him tiredly. "Thanks, babe." He fell shortly to sleep, leaving Nick to think that he'd likely been busy, himself.

He ran his flesh hand gently over Deacon's wig. He found it strange how he lay this like with him, in a similar embrace to one he'd had with Jenny after a long day at the precinct.

But this was different. Nick knew that his affection for Jennifer Lands, while it did seem real, was only programmed into him, and based on the memories of the real Nick Valentine. This, however, was real, and it was his. He nuzzled up against Deacon and listened to the man sleep as the soft blue light of the moon shone through the window. He knew that he would eventually forget him, as the centuries passed, but he didn't want to think about it now. He would enjoy his time with him, for as precious as he was.

XXXXXX

The first thing the Courier did after the Battle of Hoover Dam was remove her duster, emblazoned with the two-headed bear, to leave behind. The second was to set off on the road to Dead Horse Point, with ED-E in tow.

Joshua already been made aware of her returning due to his advance scouts. Still, it had been something completely different to look up from his desk and see her removing her black cowboy hat and sunglasses to betray a weary expression.

He said the only thing that he could. "Welcome back."

She smiled and stopped before his desk. "Just thought I would let you know that the Legion was driven back from Hoover Dam." The smile slipped off. "Caesar's still alive, though."

Joshua nodded. "That blow should slacken their influence, though it will likely still be an ongoing war. Such is the way of things."

She shrugged. "Just thought you'd wanted to know."

Joshua rose from his desk at that, his blue eyes flicking from her, to the entrance to the cave, and back again. "Is this your final message, Marisol?" He asked, with a slight teasing note.

She smiled at that. "Professionally speaking, yes, but on a personal note, I was looking for a place to cool my heels, if you'll have me."

"You're always welcome," he replied, passing by her, "Arrangements can be made, considering what you have done for us."

The tips of her fingers brushed against his, causing him to pause, and look at her. The Courier stared back at him meaningfully. He slowly moved his hand up to grasp her forearm. She smirked and allowed him to draw her to himself.

He hadn't doubted her abilities, but even still, it was a relief to have her there with him.

"Could I?" She asked quietly.

He slowly raised a hand, his eyes not leaving hers, and lowered the bandages, revealing cracked and scarred lips. "Yes."

She took a moment to focus her gaze on his mouth, her eyes searching as she took in his wounds. He felt as if he was on display and was a bit unnerved. However, she slowly reached out a hand, and gently brought him down for a kiss. It was tentative, and her chapped lips whispered against his. While the sensation wasn't uncomfortable, it was still quite alien to him, not having experienced this for decades.

He hugged her to himself, and she glanced up at him. He stroked the back of her head, his fingers gently combing through the strands of her hair. "I missed you," he muttered.

Her hand came up to push him closer. She lowered her head against his chest. "Missed you, too."

The first night had a bit of awkward shifting, with the two of them trying to find their positions. At last, however, they relaxed together with his arm around her waist, lying with her back to his chest. She fell asleep rather quickly, while he slowly willed himself to rest.

"Have you ever rolled onto your back?" She asked the next morning as she stretched beside him.

"A few times," he replied, "There is a trick to avoiding it." He watched as she tied back her rust-colored hair.

Turning back to look at him, she asked, "So, anything I need to do to help around here?"

"I can think of a few things. After all, if you are to live among us, you should at least pull your own weight."

She could only smirk up at him.

Back on Joshua's desk was the .45 automatic that he had given her upon her departure from Zion Canyon. "For luck, if nothing else," he'd said, placing it in her hand.

Joshua laid his thumb gently on Marisol's forehead. She stared up quietly at him. He hadn't known what to make of her, exactly, when she had told him how she had taken revenge on the man who had shot her in the head. She had strangled Benny in his sleep, when he was at his most vulnerable. While Joshua didn't condone her methods, he understood all too well the desire for revenge.

Then there was the Sierra Madre. She'd been treated as a slave by Father Elijah, and left the old man locked inside the vault with all the gold bars that he had desired. A fitting fate for him.

She moaned about it, a few times, in her sleep. She'd curled in herself, holding her head and whispering, "No, no, no!"

Shaking her awake, Joshua had forced her to register her surroundings. Recollecting herself in his arms, she apologized, "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." Her dreams would be of the Cloud, and of the ghost people dragging her into it, her nails leaving claw marks on the tile as she screamed for her life. In other dreams, she heard the infernal ringing of a radio's static in her ears until her head would explode from her shoulders.

"There was that lounge singer, too, Dean Domino," she said quietly as she doused a candle for the night, "He was going to kill me. I told myself I had no choice, but I still took the life of someone who had been suffering for so long."

She had scars all over her. There were some that were from the slice of a deathclaw, or from gunshots. Far worse, though, were the psychological ones. The bomb collar had left a mark on her neck from where it had rubbed against her flesh.

She tended to expose her collarbone when she helped him to change his bandages, her bomber jacket, emblazoned with ribbons and bullets, hanging open over her shoulders. The first few occasions had prompted arguments between them, with his fervently claiming that only he could change them properly, and her insisting that her medical skill was enough.

As a distraction, she shared a few pieces of her past, with the process being long as it was, unraveling the bandages, allowing him to bathe, and then re-wrapping him. She explained that she was a tribal, with her father hailing from Mexico, and her mother being a descendant of the natives of California. "While that technically made me a citizen of the NCR, it was strange to see it that way, for as distant as our settlement was. The NCR couldn't always protect us due to overextension."

"So, you were seen as easy prey," Joshua surmised.

"My friends were taken by slavers, to be sold as prostitutes and labor. Some were taken by raids, others were tricked into it by so-called lovers, and job offers."

Joshua's blue eyes flashed up at her. His Kevlar vest and bandages were on the skins beneath them, leaving his chest, face, and forearms exposed. His own flesh was red and ash gray, mottled with cracks and deep scarring.

She picked up the gauze at that, and said, "Hold still." He did as he was told, though he kept aware of the fact that his pistol was lying a few meters off at the head of their bedroll.

When he did wince, it was only at the cold of the gauze as she cleared off the dead skin under his right breast. As she silently cleaned, Joshua watched her movements. Her calloused hands were rough, and leathery from years of work, though she was diligent in it.

"My sister was killed in a raid while her husband was meeting with a few traders. I was working as a courier, then. They took my nephew – he was only eight. I didn't have time to go home for her funeral. Really, it's fair to say I lost my mind," she shook her head, her voice becoming hard, "Not my family, not my house! I took whatever contracts I could to get at least the partial pay up front – some were, in retrospect, utter suicide, given how dangerous the Divide was, but I took them for the caps." She lowered her hand from him. "All of my life savings – every single cap I had – I spent them to try and save my nephew."

"What became of the bid?" He prompted.

"I won. I had to carry Horatio on my back. They'd broken his leg and knocked his teeth out." She put her head in her hands.

Joshua carefully moved forward and put his arms around her. "But you did it, you rescued him," he comforted, "That boy is free because of you."

She slowly lowered her hands and glanced up at him. "I couldn't go back home myself, though. I had contracts to fulfill, and one thing led to another. I didn't have anything to my name, any longer. Then several years later, I ended up with two gunshots in my head, and being dug up by a securitron. I could only repay the favor Victor had given me by freeing him from Mr. House's mainframe."

Joshua let go of her with one hand. He drew his thumb down her cheek. Father Elijah was her adversary, not his, though it would have given him some amount of pleasure to have enacted justice on that man. She'd been humiliated, and left fighting for her life during the worst nightmare she could have imagined.

She leaned forward and kissed him a few times, tenderly, her lips moving gently over his cracked and dry ones. He gently bit down on her lip, and she gave a soft gasp. She drew out to carefully lean her forehead against his, her eyes closed, and his arms still around her.

It shouldn't have surprised him that she had once been married, being a year shy of forty, but nevertheless he did feel a touch of possessiveness when she informed him that she was a widow.

"Ernesto and I, we were nineteen when we married," She commented fondly as she washed her face in a basin, "He was an explorer. I was, too, ever since we were kids. We'd scavenge items for the traders. I hadn't realized it at the time, but I was pregnant with our daughter. We were investigating an old factory for parts when a sentry bot blasted his head clean off." She winced and let out a heavy sigh. "Perhaps we should have considered that place taboo, as the Sorrows did the structures in Zion Canyon. I destroyed the sentry bot, but it didn't bring him back."

"Your daughter?" Joshua inquired, "Is she still alive?"

"My little girl, Esperanza," she muttered, putting her hands over her stomach, "Never even took her first breath. The umbilical cord was wrapped around her throat."

"My condolences, though I would tell you that it wasn't your fault."

Marisol nodded as she wiped at her face. She leaned over the basin. "It doesn't make it any easier to live with. We buried her next to my husband. I put a teddy bear on her grave," she said in a wistful voice, "I paid quite a few bottle caps for that bear, and I couldn't afford much from the traders, but that would have been her gift to welcome her to this world from me. When I returned to it the next time to pay my respects, it was gone." She shrugged. "I suppose I latched onto Horatio, in my daughter's place. It doesn't matter now. I took on the courier jobs after that. There was nothing left for me."

Alone, he said a prayer for the souls of Marisol's family, hoping that they had found rest. He didn't feel a need to continue to be jealous of her husband, given as he himself was no longer living, and so he kept his peace on that.

Fondling her brought out a few rather interesting facets. Marisol tended to get flustered, her cheeks red, and her eyes glazed from the pleasure. She'd confessed to submitting to past lovers, mentioning a female ghoul among them. While that had given him pause, he hadn't much lingered on it. He had no leg to stand on, there. He'd shared his body with Edward in the past, only to have the same man light him on fire and throw him into the Grand Canyon.

The legionnaires had to have made their lewd comments about her, he knew that much. Rather, he knew that they likely had fantasies of taking her against her will, and it made his blood boil.

In the past, he'd sold women like her, some while they still wept over slain husbands and babies. Women who were felt and weighed like brahmin on the auction block, the younger the better for more breeding. While he hadn't "tested" the merchandise, like other legionnaires took the liberty of doing, he still had treated them as commodities.

That haunted him in his own dark moments. He could hear the cries and the screams, the ghosts wailing at him from across time. He buried his thoughts in scripture, as he often did, partially to come to terms, and partially to seek refuge. Though, there were times where he had to put the book down and remain with his thoughts. Daniel had dragged him from them in the past, but on other occasions, Joshua had forced himself out of them. Now when she could, Marisol sat with him in silence until it passed.

Eventually, she told him about Ulysses.

"You let him live," he commented quietly, his hand tightening over his holstered firearm. He'd gotten better at bandaging his hands over the years – the first few times he'd done that, he'd broken open his bandages and caused his hand to bleed.

"There was no point in killing him," she replied, running a blade over the carcass of a slain coyote to peel off the skin, "Aside from that, he helped me to fight off the marked men. They were swarming everywhere." She glanced up as her eyebot floated by, and through the cave tunnel, his curiosity never completely sated. "ED-E wouldn't have been enough."

"You knew what that man did, to my home, to my people, and you still allowed him to walk," Joshua's gaze became hard, "At least tell me why."

"Because he isn't the same man he once was," she paused, and licked her lips before continuing, "You and he have that in common."

"Don't you ever compare him to me," he said sharply, his voice like ice.

"If you're taking my comparison as a justification for his actions, then stop right there," she put down the bloodied knife to stand up straight, "because I do not justify what you were responsible for. You at least are attempting to atone for them."

In his typically wiser state of mind, Joshua would have taken the compliment, and left it as it was. However, angry as he was, he stooped to pettiness. "And what does that make you, who also carries part of the responsibility for the destruction of the Divide?"

She winced as if she had been slapped. "Then you have the liberty to make whatever judgment you want." She stood before him, her hands spread out.

Silence passed between them, with the wind whistling outside the cave. Fires crackled in the distance, and the voices of Dead Horses echoed. One little hole, in the middle of her head. He could complete what that fool Benny hadn't been able to get right.

Joshua let go of his pistol. "You didn't think I would do it, did you?"

"No." Picking up the knife again, she went back to work.

She was utterly imperfect, as was anyone else. At times, he wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her. She was stubborn, as much as he was, and short-sighted. When she'd told him about how she had gotten her own friend thrown out of the Brotherhood of Steel, he'd had little sympathy.

"It wasn't your place to tell her to leave."

"And yet you let me talk to Follows-Chalk," she pointed out evenly.

"Simple, there is a difference," he leaned forward over his desk, "The Brotherhood of Steel is strict with its members against contact with the outside world. What did you think was going to happen?"

She glared at him, but he didn't waver. She abruptly departed the camp and took three days away from the tribe. On the third, she returned, slamming down yao guai meat on the pile, and shouldering past him to sleep on a pallet outside near the warriors. He knew that there were comments made but didn't find reason to care. It wasn't until the week had ended that she returned to his bedroll, sliding in as if nothing had changed.

"Don't take this as agreement," she grumbled.

"I'm not," he replied before slipping into sleep.

Then there was the topic of her playing God herself, as it were, with the securitron Victor. Joshua had encountered several in the New Vegas area in his time, but to see one up close again after all that time, much less at Dead Horse Point, was jarring.

However, there he stood, his wheel perched at the bottom shelf of the rock face. While the warriors spoke excitedly among themselves about the newcomer, Marisol quickly picked her way down to see her friend. Joshua followed carefully behind her, gesturing for the others to remain close.

"Victor, what brings you out here?'

The securitron was silent for a moment, and then he slowly raised a servo in the air. "So, this is where you've been, all tucked away," he commented bitterly.

She immediately stiffened at that. "Victor, what's wrong?"

He lowered his servo. "Where do I even begin with you?" Victor turned slightly to look at Joshua. "You've shacked up with the Burned Man. Guess he was real all along."

"Real as you are, Victor," he replied evenly.

"Why were you looking for me?" Marisol asked, perplexed, "I thought you were in Goodsprings."

The cowboy on the securitron's screen scowled at her. "You think I would want to stay there, knowing what you're responsible for? You killed Mr. House in cold blood, as well as my brothers and sisters."

Joshua knew that Marisol could feel his eyes on her. He'd known of Victor, already, with her having confessed what she had done to him. He'd been surprised that she could have pulled such a thing off, but nevertheless, he couldn't help but take a bit of smug knowing that his sentiments about the NCR had proven prophetic. Still, the fact remained that she had killed a defenseless old man.

She shook her head. "Don't you understand what sort of man he was? He was willing to let everyone else in the Mojave live in war and famine! He even overrode your own free will when you tried to help save Goodsprings! He was a tyrant!"

"How dare you!" Victor rolled forward.

Joshua drew his gun warningly. "If you've come to talk, then talk. I won't let you harm her in my presence."

"Fine by me, hoss," he turned back to look at her, "That doesn't give you the right to end his life!"

"You would've been speaking differently, had I sided with him," she pointed out, "Victor, what did you want me to do? When I disconnected him from his system, he begged me to end his life. I couldn't leave him like that."

"You could've left him alone! If you weren't going to side with us, then you could've just gone! I'd have let you go!"

She sighed. "But Victor, think: what would Mr. House have made you do, then?"

"I-I—" He broke off, and the cowboy on the screen looked completely unsure of himself.

"That's why I freed you. You deserved that chance to make your own choices."

"Oh, thank you so very much for that! Keep your pick from the herd, while everyone else is slaughtered! I'd call you a lowdown snake, but that's an insult to snakes! Just what kind of creature are you?!" Marisol looked hurt at that, and he continued, "You destroyed everything, and for what? So the NCR could have New Vegas? I wish I'd left you in the ground to rot!" The image of the cowboy glared at Marisol. However, the image quickly flickered to be replaced with an upset expression. "Forget it, you ain't worth it." He turned away to move off.

"Victor, wait!" She called, trotting after him, "You can go back to Goodsprings! It's your home – you'd be welcomed there."

Victor paused before turning to roll into the distance, his figure quickly descending into the horizon.

"You told me that you freed him," Joshua commented after the party returned to the village. He sat alongside her, turning pages in his book as she drank herbal tea beside him. Follows-Chalk was animatedly telling his fellow tribesmen, who had been left behind, about the securitron.

"Would allowing him to die like that be any better? A life for a life," she replied, glancing down at the scripture, "And what does that say about machines?"

He shut the book at that. "Machines are the children of men, as opposed to of God. However, you took Victor's life in your hands. Perhaps you should have considered that further." She sipped her tea at that, and he added, "You could go after him. Nothing is keeping you here."

She set her tea down. "Don't."

"I am merely making a point, nothing more. I won't force you to go against what you feel is right. You came here of your own free will. You can leave of the same."

She shook her head. "Frankly, I don't think he wants anything to do with me."

"Then he will have to make his own path, just as you did."

Marisol turned away from him to stare off into the distance. "He'll be okay, he's free." To Joshua, however, it seemed as if she was saying that only to convince herself.

And despite that all, she married him.

It was official, but quiet.

Daniel presented them with a copy of the scripture, with each lying their hands on it while giving vows. Though Joshua knew that she didn't share his beliefs in God, she at least said her conviction to him there. Rings weren't a necessity – wearing one would irritate his injuries, anyway.

"My husband."

He had to control his reaction whenever she said that. It was a feeling of euphoria, though not enough for him to truly forget his pain. It affected him more than hearing her say his name. Joshua had connotations to it in the past, as did Legate. This was different. She had fought alongside him in crushing the White Legs, but also had stayed his hand.

His beautiful Courier.

The night when the Dead Horses and Sorrows had celebrated their victory over the White Legs, she had sat beside him at the fire. Daniel kept his distance, though whether it was from him, the Courier, or both, Joshua wasn't sure.

"Back to Dead Horse Point with you, then?" She inquired.

"Yes, and preferably as soon as possible. The Dead Horses have been kept away from home for long enough." He threw a stick into the fire. She'd denied him his complete revenge for the destruction of his home, and the massacre of his people, of innocents, by allowing Salt-Upon-Wounds to run loose. He felt a sense of disgust with her, that she had deprived him from exacting justice. However, as he stared down at the corpses of the White Legs at his feet, he realized how dangerously close he was to slipping back into the role of legate.

"Then it's back to the Mojave for me," she commented, "Nothing else to do around here, I suppose. Contract's up with Happy Trails."

"Will you be content there?" He inquired. She glanced over at him, and he elaborated, "You are well-traveled."

"Is that an invitation?" She asked.

"If it would sate your curiosity. Here, let me have me a look." She lifted her wrist and allowed him to mark the coordinates of Dead Horse Point on her Pip-Boy. "After your journey is over, Marisol, come find me." He paused when her hand brushed over his.

She nodded and rose to speak with Waking Cloud. He watched her depart and turned his gaze back to the fire. Whether she abided by his invitation or not, she was no longer just the Courier to him, and that disturbed him more than much else.

He didn't have to tell her that there wouldn't be sex, really, or children, and that this life wouldn't be simple. She wasn't stupid – she knew that going into it.

"You think we'll actually die?" She joked, slipping her hand into his as the sun set, bathing the area in an orange glow, "We cheated Death. Maybe he won't come to collect."

"We each will have our day of reckoning with the Lord," Joshua replied, "Though if my atonement was not sufficient, and I am punished, I would be content if He would grant me the wish of seeing you one last time."

"Then I'll try to vouch for you." She squeezed his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I had misgivings about this one, as I'm welding together continuity from two different games. I unfortunately don't know Fallout 4 as well as I do New Vegas due to hardware issues on my laptop. I'd wanted to do a fanfic about Nick and Deacon for three years, and it turned into this.
> 
> A few notes: Rebecca is my Sole Suvivor. Marisol is my Courier. Marisol's backstory is my own headcanon, and the events mentioned are based on my New Vegas playthrough. The Pioneer, the Wraiths, Maxine, Shelly, Marisol's family, and the creek are my creations. There are a few nods to the theory of Deacon being from the NCR.


End file.
